


Elegant Dust

by macgyvershe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Enduring love, Engaging love, John is injured, Love, M/M, Motes of dust, Sherlock is badass, True and honest motes of dust, john is BAMF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 07:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2182548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macgyvershe/pseuds/macgyvershe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's John and Sherlock. A couple at last and aware of how truly happy that makes them. John is injured during a case. Sherlock is in charge and Mrs. Hudson is taking care of business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elegant Dust

John sprawled in their love nest. Sated from Sherlock’s intense sexual talents (he was a damn quick learner) John lay completely incapacitated and barely able to fire two brain cells in the same direction. Sherlock emerged from the loo with a warm, moist flannel. Having cleaned himself, he slid into their bed and gently wiped the worst of the fluid discharge from John’s person.

“I could get used to this kind of after care.” John smiled sloppily.

Sherlock hung the flannel on the bedside stand and crawled back to John’s side.

“You were amazing.” Sherlock sang John’s praises as he snuggled close and comfortably.

“Sherlock, you don’t exactly have a huge list of people to compare me to. So I think it’s a bit early for you to count me in your top five.”

“I’ve never been able to ‘connect’ with let alone tolerate anyone before you, John. I desire no one else. Ergo you are perfect, incomparable and worthy of my admiration.” Sherlock rested his ransom of dark curls and large head on John’s beating heart.

“So still not gay?” Sherlock teased.

“No.” John said ruffling Sherlock’s silky locks. “I’ve experienced a snog and grope, here and there. I’ve never felt attached to anyone. It was all trying things out. So not gay. I don’t even know if I can consider myself Bi, if I’ve never felt anything for anyone. What I do have is this fascination concerning a certain genius-idiot who can’t be bothered with anyone else in the world. It’s been that way from the very beginning. I’m totally besotted with Sherlock ‘fucking’ Holmes.”

With that statement, John rolled over onto Sherlock pinning him to the bed.

“You aren’t really saying that you’re up for more?” Sherlock looked bemused.

“No. I’m completely out. No more ejaculate available.”

“Then what am I to deduce about your compete takeover of my body. You are always complaining that I’m too boney. Well sharp edged.” Sherlock corrected himself.

“I need you to hold me down,” John said. “Seriously, I am going to float away.”

“Feeling buoyant, are we?” Sherlock smirked. Yet against all reason and rationality, he held John in a warm long limbed embrace.

“You know people think you are this mountain of icy logic, if they only knew you are actually a volcano with vast reserves of emotional magma swirling beneath, just waiting to erupt.”

“Obviously.” Sherlock affirmed.

“I maybe a world famous blogger, Sherlock. You, though, you are a storyteller par excellence.”

“Storyteller. Really John. I’ve never been accused of having any type of imagination for prolific poetic narrative.”

“The way you read a crime scene,” John chuckled. “How you deduce people, places and things. It’s magnificent. Mind blowing. Extremely poetic.”

Sherlock lifted John’s chin to gaze into his eyes. “Have you ingested any psychotropic mushrooms or some of my mold experiments from the refrigerator?”

John rolled off Sherlock laughing adorably. “I am mold free. You can scan me if you if you want to Dr. Spock.”

“Is this a reference to your Star Trek fixation, John? I do not have green blood nor are my ears ever to develop auricular protrusions.” Sherlock took up a pillow and gently pummeled John with it.

John curled up trying weakly to defend his tarnished reputation as an avid geek. “Peace, PEACE.” He pleaded and yanked at the pillow to dislodge it from Sherlock’s hands.

Sherlock relinquished the pillow and encaged John’s much smaller body with his larger one. “You hide in plain sight, John. You do not obfuscate, you are equal parts healer and killer. Protector and defender of my life. The only man who understands me, who wants to be by my side. John, I cannot imagine a life without you in it.”

John lay beneath Sherlock. Sherlock’s unbelievable grey/blue/green/gold eyes were millimeters from his. Those eyes never ceased to captivate John with their intensity, beauty and exotic presence. John pressed his eager lips to Sherlock’s and slowly his body responded to the manifestation of the raw sexual energy that was Sherlock Holmes.

(-_-)

At the crime scene, past the crime scene tape that kept the public at bay, John and Lestrade watched as Sherlock disparaged the criminal classes in snarky tones as he circled the corpse. John took copious notes and at the end of Sherlock’s verbal assault, he nodded at Lestrade. “I’ll type these notes up and email them to you within the hour.”

“Thanks, John. How’s things with you and Himself?” Lestrade was genuinely interested. 

“It’s never boring, well not for me. I’ve started that book about his adventures. It’s going great. We are going great. We are happy.”

“Happy. Well, happy is the best there is, isn’t it. You know those adventures are as much yours as they are his.” Greg’s warm smile always easy and conspiratorial.

John lowered his eyes and blinked in a self-conscious manner that was endearing.

“John.” Sherlock was moving now and his longer strides always left John at a disadvantage. “Come, John. We need to check with Serpent’s Tooth about this death.”

Giving Lestrade a nod of reassurance that he’d be in touch, John hurried after Sherlock. He had a cab waiting, ushered John into the back and followed him in.

“So we’re heading home?” John watched as Sherlock took out his mobile and texted Serpent’s Tooth.

“Yes, this murder has the mark of something more sinister than a mugging gone wrong.” Sherlock looked up from his mobile as he pocketed it. He placed his hand over John’s on the seat beside him. 

Yes, they were happy. John never thought that he’d live to see a smiling winsome Sherlock with those sensual lips full of happy. John leaned over, kissed him, and damned if Sherlock didn’t reciprocate.

(-_-)

Sherlock’s computer chimed and he opened the line. “Yes, Cindy. I’ve placed you on speaker. Please let us know your findings.”

John was bringing tea and biscuits from the kitchen to the coffee table in the sitting room.

“John, Sherlock. Good afternoon. We have investigated one Benjamin Jeffery per your request Sherlock. The supposed botched mugging murder. He was a high level gamer but more than that a programmer on the Dark Net.”

“Dark Net? Sorry, I’ve never heard of that?” John sat the tray down between Sherlock and himself.

“The Dark Net is the new face of the Black Market and organized Crime,” Cindy said. “If you want to access child pornography, hire an assassin, buy a boat load of illegal drugs or acquire several truckloads of sex slaves. You just point, click and pay. The criminal eBay of the internet.”

“If he was into this ‘Dark Net’ how would you know…,” John started.

“I could tell by his hands that he was a heavy gamer. His mobile had twelve levels of encryption. Not what your man-on-the-street would have on hand. That is why I brought ‘Serpent’s Tooth’ into our investigation, John. They can delve into the internet connections faster and more efficiently than the authorities.”

(-_-)

Serpent’s Tooth was Sherlock’s internet network. Much like his homeless network, this association of computer hackers and crackers inhabited cyberspace shaping the world into a different place. His handle at Serpent’s Tooth was Lord Digital Death.

(-_-)

“Why would the Dark Net want to kill one of their own?” John ever inquisitive and always bringing the light into the darkness.

“Why indeed.” Sherlock sat back and steepled his hands in mock prayer beneath his chin.

“We’ve set Marauder and the Black Plague on this problem plus the ‘demon hoards’ for you Sherlock.” Cindy said. “I’ll be in touch as soon as we’ve got more data.”

“The ‘demon hoards’?” John said incredulously. “They do seem to have a dramatic flair, don’t they?”

“The demon hoards are some of Black Plague’s underlings, just learning the webbing so to speak.” Sherlock said as he settled in and closed his eyes. 

John knew that he was in Mind Palace mode and went about his business. Laundry, take Sherlock’s stuff to the dry cleaners and maybe pick up some things from Tesco on the way back. Grabbling his shopping list from the dresser in their bedroom and tapped his pocket to confirm wallet and he was off.

(-_-)

Just as he reached Tesco’s, his mobile chimed with a text from Cindy.

*—John, Sherlock in danger. Gone to a Dark web location to catch the baddie. Address follows. —*

John grabbed the nearest cab and gave him the address.

(-_-)

The building appeared to be under construction at one time. Yet there was no signage anywhere and it felt like there hadn’t been any activity for a while.

John texted his idiot/genius.

*—Where the hell are you? I just got to your location.—*

*—Third floor, Southside. SH.—*

John made it to Sherlock’s side in less than 10 minutes and two additional texts.

“Sherlock?” John whisper shouted. “How many times have I told you not to go on dangerous cases without me?” 

Sherlock gave John one of his very small smiles where his very large sensuous lips puckered into an extra-ordinary inviting combination of raw sex and come-and-get-kisses. John melted on the spot and osculated that mouth with kindness aforethought. 

Taking John’s gun from his pocket he handed it to his lover, protector and crack shot. “I gave Cindy the address before even putting my coat on. Knew you’d be here same time as me. Please, John, I always listen to you even when you’re not talking.

“Just what are we doing here?” John took the gun and levered off the safety.

“We are trying to intercept one Ian James. Mr. Jeffery’s associate and the man that James’ husband was having an affair with.”

“So not related to the Dark Net, just a love triangle gone to shit.” 

“Basically, but taking James down will give Mycroft a way into the inner workings of the Dark Net. So in we go.” 

Sherlock took small measured strides to make sure that John could keep up with him. 

“What the hell is he doing here? Not exactly a hot bed of high tech, yeah?”

“He’s here looking for me. I lead him on a bit of a geeky trail of fascinating factoids that lead him to believe that I, too, was in bed with his husband.”

John shook his head and rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why I even ask.” 

Sounds came from somewhere to their left. John pushed Sherlock behind him, taking point. Gun steady as a rock in his right hand.

Out of nowhere, a nondescript man of average height and weight, with mousy brown hair and the glint of a killer in his eyes barreled toward them with piece of rebar in his hands. From off in the distance sirens were wailing their welcomed sound. John fired wanting the bullet to enter Ian’s body near the junction of his shoulder but because of the swift movement of their attacker, it merely grazed the trapezius muscle. Ian’s momentum slammed into John and Sherlock. Knocking Sherlock hard against the wall, with John banging hard into him knocking the breath out of both of them. 

Ian raised the rebar to bring it down on them. John had lost his gun in the scuffle, saw the bar coming toward them and blocked with his left arm. The bar struck dead on and John felt the ulna and radius break with the force. He screamed in pain. The bar winged in close again and caught John at the temple. Blood splattering everywhere and John went totally limp.

Sherlock exploded from beneath John. Screaming savagely, he grappled with Ian for the rebar, finally wresting it from him and bringing it down hard on his clavicle. Now Ian was on the ground writhing in pain.

Sherlock took John into his arms. The left arm was clearly broken. The temple wound was serious. The bones there delicate and easily breached. He speed dialed Lestrade and yelled for an ambulance, giving his location, then chucking the mobile in his pocket. 

“John, John, John.” Sherlock babbled. Holding his lover and friend and his world. His eyes flooding with tears that he could not stop.

The Emergency Medical Technicians were on site within eight minutes and then it was extremely difficult to extricate John from Sherlock’s presence. Finally, Lestrade had to have Sherlock physically restrained as they loaded John into the ambulance. 

“I have to be with John. Don’t you understand I have to be with him? NOW!”

One of Mycroft’s black saloon cars rolled up. Anthea opened the back door and glancing up from her blackberry for just an instant she motioned Sherlock to enter.

“Go. Get out of here, you loon. John needs you.” Lestrade let Sherlock go.

(-_-)

John lay in emergency on an examination table. His arm in a cast. His head swathed in bandages. He looked terribly broken. Sherlock at his side, holding his good right hand. Explaining his idiocy. 

“Never underestimate the hormonal rage of the homicidal manic, John. Stupidly, I thought that I was so clever in drawing him to a space easily enclosed by the Yarders. Stupidly, I exposed us, you to nearly expiring beneath his hate-fueled rage.”

John opened is drug addled eyes and saw his Sherlock near. “Wanta go home, Sherlock.”

“They want to keep you over night, John. They’re getting a room ready for you now.” Sherlock said softly.

“Wanta go home, Sherlock.” John was firm in his dedication to that thought.

Sherlock kissed Johns bandaged brow and then vanished briefly. Returning with a wheelchair which he quickly locked and gently moved John from the table into the chair. More than happy to have John at home with him. Sherlock hated hospitals. Dirty, nasty, germ filled, bacteria riddled, virus factories that were a health hazard if ever there was one.

Security was on him like a shot and there was nearly an altercation. Yet in the end, Sherlock won out with a bit of a poke from Mycroft; pillage and burn his pomposity.

Into the back of a Mycroft provided, long black car and like time-travel they were back at Baker Street. Alive, and, well not well. John was not well. Sherlock practically carried him up the stairs. Drugged against the pain of his broken arm, John barely felt the bridal carry. Sherlock took him directly into their bedroom. Striping the bed and remaking it in fresh sheets. Then striping John of his clothing, he gently placed his lover into their comfy bed. 

Sherlock positioned himself next to John in their bed. John sleeping peacefully under the covers. Sherlock fully clothed and lying upon the blankets. Mobile in hand, as he shot off a text to ‘Anthea’ detailing what he needed in the way of foodstuffs for John to eat. Medicines for him to take to ward off his pain. He didn’t ask for personal help as he knew he could count on Mrs. Hudson to help with the laundry and all those other little chores that went with daily living. 

Actually, when Sherlock thought about it, he never really worried about any of those ‘little’ chores. John always took care of everything. Took care of Sherlock’s every need. EVERY need.

Turning to look at his lover. It occurred to him that John was his life. He couldn’t imagine what his life had been before. There was no life before John. Slowly all that ‘before time’ was, well it wasn’t being deleted. It was fading, like a huge stain that the sun bleached away through time. He placed his large graceful hand on John’s forehead. Suddenly, Sherlock felt hot tears fill him with unquenchable joy, unbearable sadness. Struck senseless with his strong connection to this good man. How had he been so lucky, when he didn’t even believe in luck? Come to think of it all Sherlock believed in was data, reality, science and that wasn’t what John was. John was strong, commanding, honest, brave, true, and courageous. You could go on and on and on about all the good qualities of a human being and those attributes would fit perfectly into John.

Sherlock had spoken to John once of the ‘Elegant Dust’. The dust didn’t lie. Did not obfuscate. It was true and pure, speaking only the truth. That was John Watson. True and pure and so totally in love with Sherlock. How had that happened?

From that first meeting, Sherlock never went out of his way to enchant people, yet he had done with John. That first kiss at the base of the stairs. That had been such a gift, for both of them. Sherlock knew his life began, that day at Bart’s hospital. Knew beyond any doubt that it would end irrevocably when John’s heart stopped beating. That was the way of it. That was as it should be. Sherlock would ask for nothing more.

John’s eyes fluttered open and Sherlock smiled. Caressing the brownish, blondish, greyish strands with all the adoration that he could bring to bare. 

“Hello, you madman.” John pulled that hand down from his hair with his good right hand and kissed the palm reverently. 

“Hungry?” Sherlock asked as he heard the doorbell chime. Through the open door, he could hear Mrs. Hudson ushering in the delivery person with crates of food. Telling him to take the food up the stairs and signing any paperwork that was necessary.

“I could eat…you.” John smirked; flinching as the movement of facial muscles was just a tad painful. “I think some pain killers would be best first. Followed by food and maybe some rather extremely careful sex.”

“How can you think of sex when you are so battered up?” Sherlock said as he helped John sit up. 

“I can hardly think of anything else. When you live in a chocolate factory, not ever thinking of eating chocolate is nearly impossible.”

Sherlock helped John into his robe and slippers and thanked Mrs. Hudson for her assistance as she was putting the foodstuffs away in their now clean kitchen. 

“You’ve been a busy little bee.” Sherlock acknowledged. “The kitchen’s never looked cleaner.”

The kettle clicked notifying everyone that the water was properly hot. Tea made, biscuits eaten and pain meds had come with the food. John, fed and tea-ed and taken again to bed once more. 

“How do you feel?” Sherlock asked. 

“Like the very luckiest bloke in all of creation. Like the King of every known world. Like a man so totally in love with you that it feels like ecstasy to the power of pi.”

“I love it when you science-speak. It turns me on.” Sherlock confessed.

John knew that about him. John knew everything about Sherlock that was worth knowing. Sherlock was written on his DNA. Everything you could ever want to know was there for John to soak up and savor with every breath.

Sherlock did a bit of a strip tease for John’s viewing pleasure. When he was totally bare to the beautiful midnight blue eyes of John Watson, he slithered into the bed and held John. Kissing him and caressing every square centimeter of John’s skin. Leaving him breathless and beautifully aroused.

“I’m so very glad to be home.” John whispered. “This would have been totally undoable in hospital.”

Sherlock set about mouthing John, taking him to the end of the universe and back. John nearly passed out with the pleasure. 

(-_-)

John lay in bed. Sherlock cradled him in an embrace that was feather soft. The smell of their sexual escapade was faint in the air. John’s high tech cast was more like a web frame around his arm and had not interfered with their movements. John looked at his sleeping lover. He looked so very young when he slept. Like a child, Sherlock was a child in many ways. A man-child with the intellect of the world’s only consulting super-computer. 

John thought about Sherlock’s voice. How it’s deep timbre, it’s timeless quality could be so soothing, so irritating and the epitome of a sexual stimulant. He thought about how much he loved this man. How he could not now live in a world where Sherlock didn’t exist. Looking at the shadows and light leaking through the curtains. He noticed a few vagrant dust motes dancing in the light. The aching beauty of that simple sight was soothing and he drew Sherlock’s arms tighter about him. Taking a deep breath, he followed Sherlock into beatific sleep.


End file.
